


Shades of Color

by HopeStoryteller



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Link!Markus, M/M, Revali!Connor, aka my excuse to shove my main DBH ship in the roles of main BOTW ship, botw au, title shamelessly stolen from DBH, will I ever write more of this? who knows but probably not, you never know tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2020-12-09 05:29:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20989625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeStoryteller/pseuds/HopeStoryteller
Summary: Connor’s Landing, they call it, after the legendary champion of the Rito. Someone Markus might have known.He looks up, into the blue, blue sky—and remembers.





	1. Remember Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why does Markus feel almost _fond_ of someone he distinctly remembers being really, really pissed at?

Connor’s Landing, they call it, after the legendary champion of the Rito. Someone Markus might have known.

He looks up, into the blue, blue sky—and remembers.

He remembers—

A Rito lands on the railing in front of him, effortlessly, gracefully, and nearly knocking Markus over from the force of his landing—but the Rito appears completely unconcerned, brushing himself off nonchalantly and fixing Markus with a stare.

No, a glare. Definitely a glare. He’d heard that the Rito champion was... testy, but he’s literally just gotten here, what could he possibly have against him already?

“Impressive, I know,” he says haughtily. “Very few can achieve a mastery of the sky.”

Past Markus is a little miffed. Present Markus is a little intrigued.

So this is the Rito Champion, Connor. His feathers are mostly blue, but there’s some warm brown ones mixed in that bring to mind a nice comforting cup of hot chocolate, or his eyes. His eyes that could be doe-like, and instead are filled with a mix of emotions Markus can’t identify but strongly suspects aren’t remotely positive. The rest of his face, meanwhile, betrays nothing.

“I certainly wouldn’t expect a Hylian to be able to come close to what I have achieved,” Connor continues, almost cheerful except for the steel in his words.

Present Markus has a few things he’d like to say, but pretty much all of them would come out as flushed stammering. Past Markus doesn’t seem to share Present Markus’ apparent type, though. He crosses his arms, annoyed, and says dryly, “Some introduction. Do you do this to everyone?”

“Of course not,” Connor replies. “Just would-be heroes whose only qualifications are the darkness-sealing swords on their backs.”

...oh. He has that sword here. He should probably work on getting that in the present. But to do that he needs to go to more shrines, and he’s really getting sick and tired of shrines.

But that... from an outsider’s perspective, Markus can see it clearly. Connor is... jealous, possibly. No. Definitely, it’s so obvious he doesn’t know how his past self didn’t see it.

Actually no, he knows that too. He can feel the rage bubbling up inside Past Markus, the angry words about to burst free—

“You think I asked for this?”

“Judging by that question? No. Which further proves my point.”

“I don’t have a choice in this,” Past Markus says, gritting his teeth now. “But you don’t hear me complaining about it. So how about you suck it up, and do your job so I can do mine and we don’t all die horribly in the near future.”

Connor stares at him for a moment, before shifting his weight, hopping down off the railing, and nodding.

“Of course. And what, may I ask, will happen if you fail at your job, oh brave and prophesied knight? I always accomplish my mission.”

Connor winks—Present Markus spontaneously combusts—and continues, dangerously, “Can you say the same?”

Past Markus can’t answer. Or rather, Past Markus doesn’t answer before Connor crouches, and the wind whips up, and then he springs up, up, and up into the sky where his divine beast is waiting.

“Good luck sealing the darkness!” Connor calls back as he goes.

“Prick,” Past Markus mutters.

Present Markus, as the memory fades, isn’t inclined to disagree. Although Connor did, evidently, have a point. As present circumstances prove. 

He tells himself that the funny feeling in his chest is simply regret that he’d never proven him wrong, and nothing more than that. Absolutely nothing to do with wondering if those warm brown feathers are as soft as they look. He’s gotten good at lying to himself these days, especially where the events of a century ago are concerned. 


	2. A Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus wakes up.

“Markus.”

The healing waters of the shrine drain away, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Yet the body lying there is strangely dry, and unsurprisingly motionless.

The voice swears. The voice is that of a young woman, underlaid with anger and sadness and thoughts of revenge. But most of all, the voice is tired, and exasperated.

“Markus,” she orders, “wake up.”

Markus, or more accurately the body that once was a knight named Markus, still doesn’t move. His eyes remain closed. Of course, the fact that he has two eyes means the wound that claimed his life is no longer present, and he should be waking up.

He isn’t. When the voice speaks again, it’s with a new emotion thrown into the mix: fear.

“Markus, I didn’t wait a century for you to _sleep in!_ Wake _up!”_

His eyes fly open like he’s been slapped, and the voice sucks in a breath. Partially out of relief, but partially because he looks... visibly different. Or at least, half of his face does. The part that had fallen victim to a Guardian’s blast is visibly scarred slightly paler, and the eye he’d lost is back in a clear blue.

A blue that brings to mind a particular Rito, actually, but now is decidedly not the time to mourn. She’s risking enough of her focus now, but it’ll be worth it. It’ll have to be worth it.

“Markus,” the voice says, cracking a little and pretending not to. “Can you hear me?”

Eyes blue and green look up, and around, clearly filled with confusion. Even so, he nods.

"Yeah,” says a voice rough from disuse. He coughs into his fist, and clarifies, “I can hear you.”

She could have cried. Would have, if she hadn’t long since sealed herself away with Ganon, for all the good it did.

And then Markus says, “I’m sorry.”

Oh. Yeah, she should have seen that coming. She sighs.

“It wasn’t your fault, it was mine.“

“Right.” Markus gets up unsteadily, blinks blearily.

She tries to ignore how disconcerting seeing him with a blue eye is, the blue of glossy feathers and sheikah tech, and in doing so she mishears what he says next. Or at least she sincerely hopes she mishears what he says next.

“Can you repeat that?”

“Who are you?”

“North,” she says. “Fuck. You should—do you remember anything?”

“I’m sorry,” Markus says again, which is enough of an answer in itself.

North doesn’t respond for a time. When she does, it’s to say, “It’s not your fault. None of it was. Let’s...”

It occurs to her, suddenly, that the only thing he’s wearing are a set of blue boxers. She wonders, briefly, if they belonged to Connor, before shoving that and the grief that comes with it back where it belongs, repressed forever with everything else. There’s no way she’ll ever know the answer now. Not unless Markus remembers, which... she hopes for his sake he won’t, for a while.

“Let’s get you some actual clothes,” she says. “Hopefully they left yours in there somewhere.”

The good thing about having your head broken wide open is that, once you get the blood out, it doesn’t ruin your clothes. Markus certainly hadn’t been nearly nude the last time she’d seen him. Alive or... otherwise.

* * *

“You’re taking all this well,” North remarks eventually. They had left all his clothes, with the notable exception of his tunic, which... she’d pretended not to be pissed about, with little success.

“I told you, can’t remember anything,” Markus replies as he presses the slate to the exit console. “This might have been normal.”

“Do you really think this was normal?”

Markus thinks on this for a moment. The rock blocking the exit recedes into the rock, and the sunshine of a new dawn illuminated the chamber. He blinks a couple times before exiting.

He doesn’t answer until he’s standing at the edge of the cliff, overlooking the Great Plateau and... beyond.

“No,” he says. “Are you dead?”

North laughs humorlessly.

“Not yet. Let’s make sure you won’t be either, and then I’ll explain some of all this.”

“Not all,” Markus notes as he starts down a less sheer slope.

“No,” North agrees. “Not all. Some things you should remember on your own.”

_Or not at all_, she doesn’t add.

* * *

“He’s lying to you,” North says as soon as the old man has glided down from the tower. She doesn’t think he can hear her, but... better safe than sorry. The last thing she wants is for him to hear her.

“Somehow, I’m not surprised,” Markus says with a wry grin.

For a few moments, North can pretend again that nothing’s gone horribly wrong, that everything’s still fine.

She can keep pretending, right up until he adds, “Why am I not surprised?”

“I think...” North sighs. “If that’s who I think it is, he’s very good at lying. That might be my father.”

Markus visibly winces at that, even as he keeps picking his way through the woods. He picks up a tree branch, waves it around appraisingly.

“I’m going to take a wild guess the relationship there wasn’t great.”

“Got it in one.” North sighs. “Plus side: we’re both still here, more or less, and I’m pretty sure he’s a ghost. Unfortunately, you need that paraglider of his to get off the plateau.”

Markus glances through the slate’s scope at a camp of bokoblins a little father away. They have a fire with a great slab of meat roasting above it, and they’re all merrily dancing around it. Their weapons are scattered about the camp, within easy reach but if Markus can get there first...

“I’m thinking a club might be a bit more effective than a tree branch,” Markus says, changing the subject.

North laughs. “Absolutely. Just... be careful. You’re not getting a third chance.”

“Third?” Markus raises an eyebrow, but upon not immediately getting an answer, he shrugs, sighs, and drops into a hunter’s crouch.

The bokoblins don’t stand a chance. It’s only after Markus is helping himself to the spoils of victory that North says, “I... might as well give you the best explanation I can before someone gives you an inaccurate one.”

“I’ll do my best to appear surprised when he tells me some of the same things later,” Markus says, somehow keeping a straight face. Only straight thing about him, that. “So. What do I need to know?”

The story of the calamity, some cursory info about the other champions, and a very, _very_ abridged summary of how they’d all ended up like… this. It could have been different. It _should_ have been different. But it wasn’t.

* * *

“Please tell me I wasn’t as friendly with that… ghost? As he seems to think we are.”

“Definitely not as alive as he’s pretending to be.” North laughs. “Only reason he’s being friendly at all is because he thinks he can use you. Might as well keep playing along for now. At least until you can get your glider back.”

“Back?”

“Connor… made it for you.” Any hint of humor in her voice is gone now.

“Connor.” Markus raises an eyebrow. “As in, the Rito champion Connor, who I distinctly remember you saying hated me with a passion.”

_Not by the end._

She can’t bring herself to say it, not without losing the concentration she still so desperately needs. Instead, she tells him, “He hated my father more. I’m not convinced he wouldn’t have killed him himself, if he thought he could get away with it.”

“Oh. Good for him.”

* * *

Markus clutches the glider to his chest. His goal now achieved, he finds no shame in letting this bastard know _exactly_ how he feels about him, starting with a glare.

“You… remember,” the dead king says. Even as the ethereal glow surrounding him proves that nothing Markus could do would hurt him now, he takes a step back, and then another, until he’s standing precariously on the edge of the roof. “You’re not supposed to remember.”

“I’ll add the fact that you’re apparently responsible for my memory loss to the list of things I hate you for,” Markus says in return. “It’s a very long list, if you were wondering. Which I doubt you were.”

“If you don’t remember, then…” Hope fills the old ghost’s eyes. “Zelda.”

“North,” Markus corrects, not gently at all. “Her name is _North_.”

“She’s _alive?_ Tell her I’m—“

“Too little, too late. You know, she told me early that you were her father, but you’re _certainly_ not any kind of family. Do you have anything actually important to tell me, or can I get off this cursed plateau with the glider you neglected to tell me was _mine to begin with?”_

He opens his mouth, then shuts it. Opens it again, and says, eyes downcast, “Nothing Zelda—“

_“NORTH.”_

“—couldn’t tell you herself. Goodbye, hero. May you not ruin everything a second time.”

With that, the specter of King Rhoam Bosphoramus Hyrule falls backwards into thin air, fading away as he does. He’s gone long before he hits the ground, but Markus doesn’t watch him fall. Instead, he puts away the paraglider. A hand finds the broadsword he’d gotten off a particularly angry bokoblin.

“If he wasn’t already dead,” Markus mutters.

“You’d be approximately third in line,” North says, speaking for the first time since he’d come up here. “Don’t let him get to you. The reason we failed the first time was because of me, not you.”

“Was it your fault?” Markus asks. His hand slips from his sword, and he goes to find the ladder back down to the temple’s interior. “Or was it his?”

“It was mine, in the end. Although he really did _not_ help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *stumbles in after literal years* hi so North is Zelda now, Lucy is Urbosa, Simon is Mipha, and by process of elimination Josh is Daruk. thank [FuryBeam136](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryBeam136/pseuds/FuryBeam136) for dragging me back into this idea and writing their own nuts DBH/BOTW crossover-AU-thing.
> 
> will there be more? probably. still have a lot of feels about these characters. they deserved a better story than what their canon gave them. (I'm talking about DBH, although I'm still mad about the Champions so maybe a bit of BOTW too.)

**Author's Note:**

> This is partially my own fault for finishing BOTW while on a DBH high some time ago, and partially some very specific people’s fault in the RK1K Server for making me remember this and getting me all inspired to write.
> 
> <strike>These two are literally the only characters set in stone. I know North, Simon, and Josh are the other champions and I don’t know which is which, I’m pretty sure Hank is taking Teba’s role (which means!! I get to write Cole!!!!! if I ever write more of this anyway) and someone suggested Lucy as Zelda which isn’t a bad idea but I’m considering switching her with someone else, because Lucy has Big Mom Energy and who else do we know that has Big Mom Energy? Urbosa!</strike>
> 
> Also, if I do write more of this, keep in mind that I’m soft and probably will never, ever write a BOTW fic where the champions stay dead in any form. Also if you have ideas... help.


End file.
